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Madden proved that he was a decent human being, asking how Jolene and I were doing. It was sweet. Genuine, really. So, why am I still so anti-Madden? That’s a great question. I have no reason to be aggravated by the thought of talking to him or being around him. Well, tell that to my traitorous hormones. I’m pretty sure they have a mind of their own, honestly. Madden even told me he’d text me the time and the place while on the phone. I was unsure of the reason I would think he’d flake because he, in fact, did not.
Make Me Mad, Madden: Hyacinth Lounge, eight o’clock, reservations are under Hughes.
Do I really save his contact information in my phone as that? Hell, yes, I did. I also take my sweet time responding. It seems Madden is going all out for this shindig of a dinner. Everyone knows The Hyacinth has a dress code, the price can be steep, and there’s always a performance of some kind, whether it’s a pianist with a singer or dancer. Staying relevant and fresh is what they’re renowned for, and their drinks are out of this world amazing. Right now, the one thing on my brain is what I should wear—something stylish and short in length, something that doesn’t give out ‘I want to bang you’ vibes when that’s exactly what I’d do given the opportunity. Well, as long as he didn’t do something to screw up the mood. I move towards my closet, ignoring my phone beeping again, giving me an alert that I haven’t opened his text. There’s something more important that I have to do, and if I can’t find what I’m looking for, I’ll have to drive my ass to Journey’s.
I flip the light on in my walk-in closet, walking towards the small row of dresses I keep there. Sure, my job keeps me busy, and there are times when dresses are involved, but not a whole lot. I’m more of a leggings, jean shorts, and sneakers kind of girl. Never mind figuring out heels to go along with a dress. It doesn’t take me long to go through the ten or fifteen dresses I do have. A walk-in closet would usually mean it’d be big and easy to navigate. That couldn’t be further from the truth with my place. It’s crammed from ceiling to floor with anything and everything that couldn’t fit in the small garage that could potentially be damaged by the heat in here as well.
“Ugh, why did he have to choose a place that has a dress code?” Jolene walks in here with me, much more lively than yesterday or glued to my hip. Poor girl went through the ringer. I go through the dresses again after not finding anything the first time around that stood out to me. More than likely, it’s me being pickier than normal because when I look again, I find the perfect dress that has the right amount of shimmer, an appropriate length, and I won’t need a bra with its built-in design. How they made it happen, I have no idea. I’m just thankful for it. A win-win in my book, seeing as how Journey was gifted a pair of nude heels of the uber-expensive designer type. She wore them only once, and since they were a half size too small, she handed them off to me. It was a lucky day because we may be able to share some sizes, but never when it comes to shoes.
“What do you think, girl? Good enough?” I hold the dress up to my body, heels in one hand, to show Jolene. She wags her tail, which moves her whole body. “I agree. I guess it’s time I respond to him then, huh?” I hang the dress on the door, higher so that Jolene’s hair won’t shed all over it, place my heels back on the rack, and pick up my phone I threw on the bed.
Me: See you there.
I don’t respond with anything else, not expecting a reply either. I’m surprised when I see the bubbles appear, then they disappear, and I throw my phone back on my bed. And wouldn’t you know it, it’s like destiny is staring me in the face. There, on the messily made-up bed, my phone lands on Madden’s shirt that I’ve yet to wash and that I’ve worn to bed every night since it came into my possession. I’m so fucked.
FOURTEEN
Madden
“I didn’t thinkyou’d show up.” I’m leaning on the bar, holding a frosted glass filled with an IPA, not wanting to take a barstool seeing as how we have a reservation. A reservation I wasn’t exactly sure that Hendrix would show up to. She did, looking more beautiful than ever.
“I thought about it, then figured a free dinner, so why not?” Hendrix’s hair is in a slick and low ponytail, showing off that beautiful skin of hers. She’s clearly not wearing a bra, giving me another glimpse of what I’ve been dying to see since the last time. Fuck, I’ve jacked my cock raw. Me and Rosy Palmer are about tired of the callouses. It doesn’t stop me from taking matters into my own hands when the need arises.
“You want something to drink? We have a few more minutes until our reservation is ready,” I ask her. Instead of responding, she takes my glass out of my hand, lifts it up to her lips, and takes a sip. It shouldn’t be seductive in the least, yet seeing Hendrix take my drink, mouth where mine was, watching her throat work… One day soon, it’s going to be my cock she takes in her mouth, swallowing around my length. “I’ll take that as a no.” I turn my head to the bartender to get his attention, since it looks like Hendrix is going to finish my drink.
“What made you pick this place? You don’t seem like the guy who would choose The Hyacinth.” The bartender hands me my beer. She’s still holding the other one hostage, a healthy amount having disappeared. It takes me aback, her question that is, not that Hendrix is keeping my drink for herself.
“And why do you think that is?” I’m genuinely amused. Sure, I prefer jeans and cotton shirts or athletic-type wear out on the canyons. Don’t most guys? I mean, sure, I bitch about wearing them to the office, but when it comes down to it, Hendrix is worth dealing with a suit, minus the tie.
“I would have assumed we’d meet at a burger joint or something instead, is all.” She shrugs her shoulders. My eyes zero in on the cleavage that moves right along with her body. How Hendrix looks tonight, it’s enough to make a man like myself lose control.
“Mr. Hughes, your table is ready.” I’m saved from saying anything else to Hendrix, instead nodding my head to the hostess, hand going to Hendrix’s lower back.
“Relax, trouble, unless you’re worried you’ll have a repeat of when your back was pressed against my vehicle, pussy practically purring like a cat in heat,” I whisper into her ear. Her body tightens beneath my hand as we follow the hostess. You gotta give it to The Hyacinth—it might cost some bank to eat here, but the atmosphere, the old-world charm, the way you’re treated the entire time, it’s nice, too.
“You wish, Madden.” I hold back my laughter. She’s full of shit. Hendrix knew what she was doing with the dress she’s wearing— long sleeved, tight to her body, black and silver in color. The wide-open neck that leads towards her torso opening up even further, the sides of her breasts giving me another glimpse of her perfect tits.
“We’ll see about that.” A soft sultry voice echoes throughout the room, not overwhelming in that sense that you can’t have a conversation without yelling, just enough to give it a background noise while enjoying the company beside you or in front of you.
“Here’s your table. Cole will be your server for the evening. Please enjoy your time at The Hyacinth.” It’s the rounded booth I requested, wanting a little privacy. I wouldn’t be opposed to getting my mouth on Hendrix again, if she allows it, that is. One thing about this woman is, she knows what she does and doesn’t want.
“Thank you.” I give the hostess a fleeting acknowledgement while my eyes watch as Hendrix slides across the green velvet fabric of the half-circular-shaped seating. A glimpse of her upper thigh shows something I hadn’t yet noticed before. “Fuck, Hendrix, you’re full of surprises.” I move in beside her, unbuttoning my suit jacket with one hand while placing my beer on the table, noticing Hendrix hasn’t let the one she snatched from me go.
“What?” My comment jars her out of a stupor. Whether it was her trying to come back with a smartass remark or because she’s busy watching the entertainment up on stage, I’m not sure. I don’t respond. My fingertips graze her upper thigh, and I watch as her flesh pebbles beneath them, wondering if it’s the simple touch or the fact that my fingers are cold from holding the glass of beer.
“Your tattoo.” I push the fabric higher, wanting to see the full tattoo instead of only the outer edges. It’s an intricate script that reads ‘Trust the timing’, with two small flowers on each end. A softness to her hardness. This woman is a fucking anomaly to me most of the time.
“Madden.” My name tumbles from her mouth, the same way it did when our bodies were pressed against one another, and I’m pretty sure it’s a combination of need and desire.
“Hello, my name is Cole. Can I refresh your drinks for you?” We’re interrupted by the server. That doesn’t make me move my hand, though. I keep it right where it’ is. We’ll definitely be going back to our conversation, and soon.
FIFTEEN
Hendrix
Madden has me spinning.It was hard not to do something stupid, like spread my legs, encouraging him to sweep his hand higher up my thigh until it was right against my core.
In fact, I don’t even realize that Madden has ordered us each a fresh drink along with an appetizer. What that is exactly, I have no idea. I should stop this before it starts. “Hendrix, you going to pay attention, or are you going to stare at the scenery all night?” I gather my thoughts and move my leg, attempting to get Madden to drop his grasp on my body, unable to form a cognitive thought when his skin is pressed against mine. It’s why I was on the verge of hitting that promised land only he seems to create the last time. Which really sucks for me because try as I might to block this man from my every waking thought, it’s not happening.
